


Alone Together

by CoffeeQuill



Series: Our Roots [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Family Feels, Fatherhood, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, Minor Original Character(s), One Shot, Paranoia, Single Parents, doctor visit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24315193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/pseuds/CoffeeQuill
Summary: “Surane,” Din says, dropping the magazine back into the bin. He stands, adjusting the kid, who’s quick to stare at the doctor. “Thanks for this.”Surane gives him a look, but then looks down at the kid and takes on an overdramatic smile. “Hi there!” he says with a sweet voice, and the baby looks uncertain before beginning to smile. “Let’s get you started, huh?”------The baby needs a checkup, and Din turns to an old contact for discretion.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Our Roots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754920
Comments: 15
Kudos: 124





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N). These oneshots get previewed there first before I post!  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)

“Yes, you’re getting in the -- stop. Hey, quit fuss --  _ kid.” _

The morning has not been going well. What had seemed like a perfectly lazy morning has turned into the absolute nightmare of trying to wrangle a 14-month old into doing what Din needs him to. From a wet diaper that the kid didn’t want changed, to getting his clothes on, Din has spent most of the morning on his knees with a sensation of defeat in him.

Breakfast was the easiest affair. Din has since fetched more food for him to eat, but he has a particular love for Cheerios -- both for eating and throwing a handful at Din. He’s still finding Cheerios in his hoods and pockets.

“Come  _ on,”  _ he says more firmly, but the kid won’t stop squirming. “It’s the car. You like the car. Kid -- god,  _ please.” _

The kid won’t stop fighting the car seat, kicking his feet and wailing, and it’s a miracle he hasn’t used his  _ power  _ on Din yet. Din has him pinned to the old seat, as gentle as he can without bruising, but the kid is prepared to scream himself hoarse and fight until he’s exhausted.

Snow sprinkles down around them. They’re isolated in their current cabin, but the snow adds an effect of even more silence, everything muted but for what goes on between them. The kid is bundled up in blankets and a knitted black hat nearly pulled over his eyes, skin pale and cheeks warm, every scream visible in the cold air.

Din’s got a jacket on, gloves, a baseball cap pulled low over his face. But he’s stiff with cold. He lets out a huff of air.

_ “Gedet’ye, ik’aad!”  _ he says, and his shoulders slump. “It’s cold.  _ Ori’ciryc, ad’ika. Gedet’ye.” _

In an instant, the kid’s focus is lost and he stares at Din. Din holds his breath, and when teary brown eyes don’t cry anymore, he lets it out in relief. “Good,” he says, and he leans forward to press a kiss to the boy’s nose. He’s given a giggle. “Good boy.”

With the child relaxed now, he can settle him into the seat and buckle him up. He leans over and grabs a Happy Meal toy -- a small Iron Man figure -- and hands it to him. The boy gurgles and grabs onto it, shoving an arm into his mouth. But it’s too big to swallow.

He shuts the door and climbs into the truck’s driver seat, pulling his own door shut behind him. The engine is on and the heat going. He rubs his hands together, then pulls his seatbelt on, and shifts into drive. From his mirror, a mythosaur skull hangs from a short chain. He reaches up and pulls it off, setting it down in a cup holder.

They pull forward, lurching through the snow, starting on the road down the mountain.

“Dada?”

Din glances in the mirror. “Hm?”

“Whasabgoin?”

“We’re going to the doctor,” he says. “To get you checked out.”

“Basabalom, habasada!” The baby is staring out the window, holding the toy as the road becomes bumpy. Din’s focus shifts to the ride, careful for any slipping. Then the left side bumps up as they go over a patch and the boy lets out a startled yell before it turns into giggles.

“Dada!”

“Yeah, I know.”

The ride down is without much more incident, turning from a dirt road to a paved one, and then coming to an intersection to turn onto a highway. The baby becomes quiet as he fixates on the cars beside them at the red light, and Din watches from the mirror.

“Hiiiii!” the baby coos, waving at the next car. Din looks over and a young boy and a woman smile, waving back.

The light turns green and they make the left.

There’s a nervousness that follows him whenever he takes the kid out. Whenever they go to the store, to the drive-thru, with his cap pulled down and the kid hooded, even just to a park for an hour of playing. He can’t wear the half-balaclava that covers the lower half of his face during jobs to hide himself better. He has to play the part of a single dad just taking his child out for a day trip.

Difficult, when anyone looking too hard can be someone who wants a bullet in him.

But their drive goes without issue, and soon Din is pulling into a spot in an overgrown parking lot, the blacktop cracked with weeds poking through and the spots marked by faded white paint. It’s been cleared of snow, shoveled off into high piles around the edges, and Din looks through the windshield at  _ Havion Pediatric Clinic.  _ The sign is fresh, the building itself… less so.

He watches a woman walk in, holding her daughter’s hand. Din pulls out his phone and opens it, looking down at the text history.

_ Fine. I’ll do it. _

He lets out a breath and turns the car off.

“Okay, bud,” he says as he opens the kid’s door. “Let’s do this.” The baby is pliant as Din unbuckles the seat and lifts him out, and he’s quick to bury his face into Din’s shoulder. Din makes sure he’s secure before shutting the door and walking up towards the office, pulling the door open.

He goes through two doors before they’re hit with warm air. The waiting room of the clinic is small, chairs on either side, and he walks up to the desk as the kid starts to play with the fur of his hood. His forehead is buried against Din, watching the woman in scrubs behind the desk.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

“No,” he says, and he adjusts the baby. “We’re here to see Doctor Surane.”

“Is there an emergency?”

“No. He knows we’re coming.”

“Doctor Surane is with a patient right now.”

“I’ll wait. Just tell him Djarin is here.”

The woman frowns at him, a distrusting look on her face, but she gets up and walks further into the office. The baby begins to fuss, letting out a whimper as he squirms, and Din walks to the nearest chair to sink into. “It’s okay,” he whispers. He presses his lips to the kid’s cheek in a light kiss. “It’s okay,  _ ik’aad.  _ Shh.”

The baby pouts and squirms, but soon settles, looking around with his head on a swivel instead. He takes in the sight of the office -- brightly painted walls, covered in sea or zoo animals. Some have cartoonish scuba divers, some with astronauts.

And they wait.

And wait.

Beside them is a basket of magazines and Din takes one, glancing over the cover. Celebrity gossip bullshit -- some New Republic star drama. “Dada,” the kid whines as Din flips through. “Dada.”

“Shh,” Din murmurs, cheek pressed to his head.

Then the door in front of them creaks open and Din looks up as a man in scrubs and a white coat steps through, a cross expression on his face. “... Djarin,” he says, voice tight.

“Surane,” Din says, dropping the magazine back into the bin. He stands, adjusting the kid, who’s quick to stare at the doctor. “Thanks for this.”

Surane gives him a  _ look,  _ but then looks down at the kid and takes on an overdramatic smile. “Hi there!” he says with a sweet voice, and the baby looks uncertain before beginning to smile. “Let’s get you started, huh?”

“Physically, he seems healthy,” Surane says. The kid stares at him from where he sits on the exam bed, then turns and babbles a string of words at Din. The physical examination went without much trouble. “How are his eating habits?”

“He’s picky,” Din says, leaning against the wall. “He’s been hooked on Cheerios for the last week. He drinks milk. Likes McDonald’s.”

Surane turns and gives him another look.

“Whatever he’ll eat that I can afford,” Din bites.

“Fine. What about milestones?”

Din reaches down into his jacket and pulls out some folded paper. He smooths it out, looking down at two pages of development tracking. “He’s talking,” he says. “Calls me ‘dada’. Recognizes things. He can drink from a bottle by himself.”

The kid begins to whimper, reaching for Din. “Dada!” he shrieks.

Din steps over and picks him up.

“What about walking?”

Din looks over, then crouches down and sets the baby on the ground between his knees. “Hold onto me,” he says, and the kid stares at him but stays on his feet. Din takes his hands away, hovering right on either side of him, and the kid holds onto his wrists.

But after a few moments, the kid talks a step forward and falls against Din. Din looks up, then, lifting the boy back up to his chest. “Should he already be walking?” he asks. “This is new. He was only crawling when I found him.”

“Around 14 months? No, he’s doing fine. Even in  _ your  _ care.”

Din looks at him, his jaw setting.

“How is he on vaccinations?”

“I don’t know.”

Surane lets out a sigh.

“I don’t know shit I don’t have any  _ way _ of knowing about,” Din snaps. “Stop rolling your fuc--” he pauses, “your  _ eyes  _ at me for not knowing his whole history.”

“He needs  _ better  _ than McDonalds and Cheerios,” Surane snaps back.

“I’m doing my  _ best.” _

“The  _ best  _ you can do for this kid is leave him with the police or a hospital. They can find him a good family to be placed with. There’s some childless couple out there who would love to take him in.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why  _ not?” _

“I have to protect him.”

“From--”

Surane stops. Din stares at him, his arms tightening around the kid.

“He’s the kid Moff Gideon was after,” he says.

Din stands in an instant, the kid held by an arm around his middle, and the other reaches for the side holster beneath his jacket. He pulls the pistol, the safety clicking off as it hovers at his side. Surane stares at him, then takes a step back, his hands lifting.

“Calm down, Djarin,” he says.

Din watches him, eyes narrowed.

“I don’t give a damn about Gideon or what he wants. All the chatter lines think he’s done in, anyway.” Surane slowly lowers his hands. “I’m not threatening you. But I sure as hell don’t want that kid around my practice.”

“You think I can take him anywhere else?” Din huffs. He slowly reholsters the gun and readjusts the kid, who’s decided to become squirmy.

“If Gideon’s gone, then--”

“No. I can’t trust that shit.”

“Shit!” the kid squeaks beside him. Din gives him a frown. The baby sticks fingers into his mouth, hair falling in his eyes. “Dada--”

“Not here,” Surane snaps. “Not a kid like that, when this place is just getting off the ground. And not  _ you  _ around here. After the crap you’ve done?”

“I was doing my job. Your sister made her choices. It’s not on me that she took a debt that huge and didn’t pay.”

Surane scowls at him.

“Is my kid okay or not?” Din snaps.

Surane glances at the kid, who’s shut himself off as he buries his face in Din’s shoulder. He crosses his arms. “Yes, he’s okay,” he says. “Splurge on nutritious food. He’s lacking in growth. You need to get him on a vaccination schedule, he can’t afford to miss anything.”

“Sure,” Din says.

“Din Djarin,” Surane mutters, “with a  _ baby.” _

“Yeah. I know. And we were never here.”

With that, he hightails it out of there.

The kid is much less fussy with being put into his seat, letting Din buckle him up with ease and with minimal feet kicking. “Good boy,” Din murmurs, and the baby looks at him with a smile. “You were very good.”

The baby grins and squirms.

Din climbs into the front seat and turns on the truck, letting out a breath, and he cranks the heat up. He glances back at the kid, who is looking out the window, and he begins to back out.

A shiver runs through him, and he tries to keep his nerves under wraps.

They situate themselves in front of the fire.

It’s roaring, flames reaching high, and the kid is fascinated by it for a few minutes. Then his attention turns to his toys, scattered around on the blanket spread out on the floor. The cabin is warm, the fire lending heat, and the kid only wears a sweater and a clean diaper as he crawls about.

Din sits a few feet away, scrolling on a tablet.

The news has been boring -- some protests, political mudslinging, nothing that isn’t expected at this point. He scrolls through articles from one particular paper, scanning the words, looking for something.

Anything.

The author’s name ringing a bell, a phrase slipped into the words,  _ something. _

But another day and there’s no signal to find.

“Dada, ha cha-kee.”

“Hot  _ chocolate,” _ he says, and he grabs the bottle, still warm. He holds it up at an angle. The baby crawls over and grabs the coffee table to stand. He comes beside Din and latches on, gulping as he leans against Din’s shoulder. Din loops an arm around his legs, scanning another article, but there’s nothing else from this news source that he hasn’t been reading.

Maybe his organization really is dead.

“Maybe it’s just you and me,” he mumbles.

The baby pulls back with a suction noise from the bottle and Din turns it over to keep from spilling. He leans on Din still, forehead bumping against Din’s cheek as he looks down at the tablet. Din presses a soft kiss to his hair.

“I think we’re alone.”

The baby mumbles a string of words, his tone matching Din’s.

Din looks at him, then shuts off the tablet and sets it aside. “How about we finally do some haircuts?” he says, scooping the kid up as he stands. “We both could use one.”

The baby laughs, eyes shining, and Din gives him a squeeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a:  
> Gedet’ye - please  
> Ik’aad - baby  
> Ori’ciryc - very cold  
> Ad’ika - little one/son/daughter
> 
> The [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N)  
> Follow me on [tumblr](https://coffee-quill.tumblr.com/)


End file.
